from sky to seed

Meet gray cat

We’ve got a new addition around the house…!

Gray Cat.

He’s the best. He truly is! And I hate cats! But Gray Cat? He comes running when you call him. He is cuddly and affectionate. He is gray. He has a huge personality. When my dad came over the other way, he was watching Gray Cat stalk one of Pax’s toys on the living room floor and he started to say, “That Gray Cat really has one heck of a personal– OW!” because right then, Gray Cat launched himself across the room and attacked my dad’s foot. It was the best. You truly could not have asked for better timing.

He’s funny like that.

Also, he rides in cars. He LOVES riding in cars. When he goes into the vet for check-ups, all the vet techs come out and coo over his wonderful personality. I am seriously considering setting up a YouTube account for him. He is just the best.

He falls asleep anywhere and in just about any position.

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And he gets along really well with every single animal on the farm. Including my main man.

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And he brings out all the tenderness in Jon, which is just really sweet and does that topsy-turvy thing to my insides that probably happens to most women when they see their significant others playing with little kids.

As for the name, Gray Cat, I fought really, really, really hard to name him Boo Radley and to name the other one Atticus Finch. Get it, To Kill A Mockingbird Fans? HA.

Gray actually came in a set with this other pretty little striped brother, but he died. I don’t want to go into details, but it was very sad. Anyway, after Atticus Finch died it became even harder to get anyone — mostly Jon, and a few of the other farm dudes, and especially our neighbors — to call Gray Cat Boo Radley.

“Boo Radley?!” they’d exclaim, scrunching their noses. “Who ever heard of that?” And then go into some further tirade like… ‘Who names a cat, anyways?’

I DO. I name cats.

Jon names them, too. But not very well. He’s one of those guys that gives the same name to every category of animal. Horses are “Donkeys,” dogs are “Fleabags,” and cats are “Puss.”

Can I just say, I hate hate hate absolutely hate the word “Puss”? It you add one more letter from the end of the alphabet it turns into another word that is so indecent and icky to me. I don’t know if it’s feminist or anti-feminist to despise it, but I hate it. I just do. Call me a prude. So I’m a prude! I hate it.

So he ended up with “Gray Cat,” instead. And actually responds to Gray Cat.

I am not a cat person. I hate them. They’re cruel. I can’t stand that they have no loyalty. I’m allergic to them. They make me sneeze and they give me hives. They’re responsible for some outstanding number of song bird deaths in England, and here, too, somewhere. I just, really hate them. I am a dog person. A tried and true certified dog lover.

In fact, when Jon brought Gray Cat home, I was furious. We had some serious fights about that thing. Divorce was imminent. I’m not kidding.

But then… something wonderful happened.

I fell in love with Gray Cat.

But only Gray Cat.

And now I’m one of those people who thinks their baby is the cutest baby in the entire world, but only because all other babies are hideous.

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